


Skin Patterns

by Cryptographic_Delurk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Body Hair, F/M, Fenris might have a human fetish, Heavy Petting, Mid-Canon, Public Displays of Affection, Size Kink, Softcore Porn Without Plot, Submission, but he and Isabella are the same size so I’m bad at this, which in this context is basically-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptographic_Delurk/pseuds/Cryptographic_Delurk
Summary: Yes, it probably meant something that he was getting off at the thought of disappearing into the shadows of large irreverent humans. The same way it probably meant something that Isabela made cruelty and depravity and ownership into a joke. But somehow Isabela had a way of distilling the moment and removing any outside context or threat.
Relationships: Fenris/Isabela
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Skin Patterns

**Author's Note:**

> No, I don’t know where Fenris’s gauntlets went.
> 
> This work has been translated by the talented Akrill! Thank you so much!  
> Перевод на Русский - [Узоры на коже](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26404963).

With her pressed up against him like this, it was obvious they were of a height. They were the same width across in the chest and shoulders too, although Fenris lacked the magnificent pair of breasts.

He was tall for an elf, and sturdy. But from what he’d seen Isabela was of average height for a human woman, although perhaps a fair bit more built. Still, it made him shiver. He’d always liked this about humans – their exaggerated proportions and towering bluster. He felt it sometimes, surrounded by Hawke and Isabela, Aveline and Donnic, Anders and Sebastian who were both a full two heads taller than him. He felt it now, as the heavy weight of Isabela flattened him against the wall – he thought he might dissolve, become completely engulfed by her. It was okay, he thought, to lose himself in her. Sometimes it felt he was cracking under the pressure of being himself.

It was a little embarrassing to do this, in the crowded main room of the Hanged Man. But with his eyes closed, covered by Isabela on one side and the wall on the other, Fenris felt a little invisible and, again, not quite like himself. He let one hand draw down her side and, tossing the silly white fabric aside, he manoeuvred so the strap of her undergarment overlapped between his thumb and forefinger as he caressed her thigh. The other hand he reached to the underside of her breast, following its curve through the fabric, towards her back.

She tasted like the sour ale they served at the bar, but it was a taste he decided he liked so long as it was on her mouth.

Fenris realised, belatedly, he was probably meant to kiss her back. He pressed his tongue against hers, not quite sure if he was doing it right – the kissing was new in a way even the touching wasn’t. He jutted his tongue and lower lip forward, and startled at the metallic taste. His eyes flew open, although Isabela was too close for him to take in. There were just flashes of the dim light of the bar, the wooden beams on the ceiling. He blinked, noting the way that Isabela had pressed her tongue to the ridge of his mouth, before letting his curiosity get the better of him. He rolled his lower lip over hers and flicked at her piercing with his tongue, felt rather than heard her moan.

Isabela pulled back, pressing a more chaste kiss to the tip of his nose on the way back, and then bit her lip as she smiled at him. Though she had leaned her head back, her body was still pressed flush against him.

“I guess you know what you’re doing after all, sweet thing.” She seemed pleased.

Not wanting to disabuse her of this notion, he fixed his line of sight at her shoulder as he let the hand at her hip wander over her rump, and then down between her legs. But whatever he had meant to do down there, he found himself quickly distracted. He’d forgotten that humans had hair down there, quite a lot of it. It was coarse and curly, and he fluffed it a bit in his hand, ran his fingers through the surface of it. Didn’t they have hair under their arms as well? He let his other hand wander up from where he was pinching her side to find the damp fuzz at her armpit.

He noticed his shudder, the way he rolled his hips up into her, in impassive third person. Like someone else’s body had made the decision to react in such a way. Isabela stood her ground, though, not letting herself be bucked back from where she’d pressed him against the wall. She rolled her eyes and disentangled his right hand from her undergarments, although she left the one that was currently tickling her underarm.

“And here I’d almost forgotten about your human fetish,” she tisked. “I suppose I was a fool to think I was more than a voluptuously hairy piece of meat to you~” She sighed dramatically.

Fenris let his eyes flutter close and pressed a quick kiss to Isabela’s lips. “I am more than a little sure that no such fetish exists.”

“Oh, you don’t think I’ve noticed how you look at us?” Isabela waggled her dark eyebrows. “You like us tall and scruffy and so fleshy you barely know where to put your hands. Are you sure I’m enough for you?” she joked. “I don’t have the lady man hands.” She flexed her fingers in front of his face, and brushed his bangs from his eyes. “I don’t have a fantastic array of facial hair growing either,” she rubbed contemplatively at her chin.

“Are you really one to criticise?” Fenris demanded, in mock offence. “You’re the one that likes to fantasise about me getting oiled up.”

It should have been offensive, and it was. But somehow Isabela had a way of distilling the moment and removing any context or pretence or threat. Yes, it probably meant something that he was getting off at the thought of disappearing into the shadows of large irreverent humans. The same way it probably meant something that Isabela made cruelty and depravity and ownership into a joke. But there was no past or future with Isabela, just the sensation of the current moment. A thought or a word or a touch was appealing, or it was not, and she let you own that and hold that would not let you surrender it to figures and faces and reasons that were not there in the same room.

“Tell you what – you get all glistening for me, and I’ll see about growing a beard for you,” Isabela chucked.

“Somehow I believe I’d be getting the raw end of that deal.”

“Not at all, sweet thing,” Isabela assured. “Far be it for me to end speculation on who’s getting it raw, but I’ll have you know it’s not just the beard. I’ve been known to sport a gorgeous moustache as well, from time to time.” She brushed a finger over the peach fuzz above her lip, and curled the imaginary tip of a moustache around her finger.

“I will pass all the same,” Fenris heaved a sigh of faux regret.

“Your loss,” Isabela giggled, before he leaned forward to catch her lip again.

The kisses were more languid this time, slow and messy. He was vaguely aware he did not want to rush, should not rush, here in the middle of the Hanged Man. It was only a matter of time before they were heckled – Isabela who was at once offensively promiscuous and offensively picky in her promiscuity, and her knife ear suitor. They were probably already thinking it, even if things had not escalated to shouts and jeers and the bloodbaths Varric seemed convinced were the inevitable result of Isabela’s romances.

Isabela seemed to sense his hesitation, and pulled back after a lingering press of her tongue. “Would you like to go some place more private? …Or more public? I could go for that too,” Isabela teased.

She did not deliberately misunderstand when he nodded, though. She went to pull away only for Fenris to grasp her around the waist and pull her back. He felt some of the blood rush back to his face, though not enough. His leggings usually fit rather tight, and Isabela’s body obscuring his was just about all that was preserving his modesty at the moment.

“Oh, you’re shy! How cute!” Isabela crooned, when he avoided her gaze. She pressed a fleeting kiss to his eyebrow, before swivelling in his arms so her butt was pressed up against him instead. “Don’t worry,” she reassured, as she took his hands and placed one loosely at her hip, and one at her shoulder. “I don’t mind leading the way.”

It was not exactly discreet, huddling so close to her as she walked him to the exit. But he keep his eyes trained at the floor, and he was following in her footsteps, disappearing in her shadow again. Just like that secret and slightly treacherous part of him wished.

They did end up heckled on the way out of the bar, by someone who seemed to misunderstand how heartworm was transmitted. But Isabela took care of the man with a ruthless elbow plunged into his gut. And how many battles Fenris had fought, running into the foreground to defend those he cowered behind. It felt nice, he thought, to be the one protected in this way.


End file.
